The letter

This is the day.
So says the sun that
shines on our bodies
as we lay on the floor
like wet towels
with our mouths full
of each other.
In our moist embrace
an insistent knock
at the door finds us
unfinished and surprised.
Our naked legs guide us
to the beckoning sound
to find a uniformed boy
with no color except gray,
and in his small hand,
a letter.